Be There
by btamamura
Summary: A Sherlock Hound/Meitantei Holmes fic. During an epidemic that has taken many of his patients, Watson is reminded of his importance, especially when it comes to Hound. Platonic relationships. Rated to be safe.
1. Doctor's Crisis & Detective's Worries

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own_ _ **Sherlock Hound/Meitantei Holmes**_ _, the characters or the original_ _ **Sherlock Holmes**_ _works. They belong to their respective owners._

 **Notes:** _ **Another angsty mood, another depressing story. Well, I'm sure you're used to it after my track record this year. It was mainly due to rewatching**_ _Sherlock Hound/Meitantei Holmes_ _ **, the Granada adaptation of**_ _Sherlock Holmes_ _ **and reading the original works that the idea set into my mind to write an angsty chapter fic for these two. Since I am not quite ready to do so for the original Holmes and Watson, I am doing it for the pair to help develop my interest in the first place.**_

 _ **Pairs are platonic, so no slash this time around. Might be a bit OOC at times. As always, to avoid confusion from his human counterpart,**_ _Holmes_ _ **is**_ _Hound_ _ **.**_

 _ **I hope you enjoy this!**_

 _ **(Linebreaks hate me so I will use**_ _SHJW_ _ **.)**_

SHJW

It had been a very long, tiresome and depressing day. Dr. John H. Watson wanted nothing more than to return to 221B Baker Street and have a few drinks while his dearest friend, Sherlock Hound, helped distract his mind from the _Week from Hell_ , as he'd so aptly put it. But, a doctor's work was never done; he had a Duty of Care to his patients and they would always come first.

There was an epidemic of influenza in London and while many recovered, there were others who weren't so lucky. Over the last three days, Watson had uttered _I'm sorry, I did all I could_ a grand total of forty times. When he closed his eyes, he could still hear shrieks of grief from mothers who'd lost a child or wives who lost their husbands, wails of children who'd lost a parent or sibling, barely repressed sobs of men who had lost someone dear to them. He'd heard _I understand, thank you for your efforts_ from some and _what kind of doctor are you?!_ from others. He'd had to contact the morgue for the deceased to be collected from their homes and offer advice to the bereaved about funeral services.

All in all, it was a week he'd just as soon forget.

SHJW

Hound was playing a melody on his Stradivarius when he heard the click of the door. He opened his eyes and turned to regard who had entered. It was Mrs. Marie Hudson, their beautiful and kind-hearted landlady and housekeeper. He immediately noticed concern on her features and ceased playing, returning the instrument and bow to its case. "You've heard from Watson?"

She nodded. "He wired ahead to inform he may be late for supper this evening."

"That blasted influenza epidemic! If he's not careful, our dear Watson may find himself done up and under the weather before long."

"Have you seen the reports in the paper about it?"

"I hadn't noticed any, but I deduce the epidemic has much to do with the growing list of obituaries."

She nodded. "I hope the doctor doesn't take it to heart..."

"As do I, my dear Mrs. Hudson." He turned to look out the window, eyes skyward. "As do I."

SHJW

The toll had reached forty-one after a newborn contracted the illness. He was familiar with the family and knew they'd been trying for years for a baby. Their son was barely a month old and he was taken away from them.

Thank goodness he could finally go home. He wasn't sure how much more death he could take in that day, and he was a veteran of the Afghan War. He sighed and hailed a cab, not feeling strong enough to endure the walk.

SHJW

Hound was in his armchair, pondering to himself just what he could do to help his friend. He'd seen the signs of distress each day of the _Week from Hell_ ; a name Watson had come up with. Smoke drifted from his pipe as he gazed to the sofa, imagining Watson sitting there. He knew he had to do something to help his dearest friend through such a difficult time, but what?

He'd soon find his answer; Watson was ascending the seventeen steps to their floor. He could hear him stopping at his bedroom first; presumably to put away his medical supplies and change into something far more relaxing than his usual.

SHJW

Watson tiredly opened the door to the sitting room and forced a smile. He didn't want to bring his friend down into despair with him, so why not keep up a positive front?

"My dear Watson, you should know by now that you cannot deceive me with a false smile," Hound remarked, looking to him.

Watson sighed and allowed it to fall. If Hound was going to see through him anyway, then there was no use for any pretense that the situation wasn't as bleak as it truly was. He made his way to the sofa and sat down heavily, head bowed in a mixture of exhaustion and sorrow.

Hound rose to his feet, making his way to the sideboard and pouring a couple of glasses of brandy. He carried them, as well as the decanter, back to the armchair and sofa, offering a glass to Watson.

"Thank you, old boy." Watson gulped down the brandy and saw his glass being refilled instantly. He realised why Hound had brought the decanter with him. He wasn't one to drink away his sorrows, but after the week he'd had, he could use a stiff drink. He had to make sure not to overdo it though; he might be required in the middle of the night to take care of another patient. _Not that I'd make a difference to them anyhow judging by my run this week..._

Hound sipped at his own brandy, observing Watson and wondering what he should say to him. What was the best way to open up the conversation? "Are you alright?" He inwardly cringed; it was clear the good doctor was not alright. He just had to look into his eyes to see he had lost hope.

Watson knew Hound had good intentions, so he bit back the snappish _of course I'm not!_ , settling with, "it's been a long week, Hound, and it is just getting worse. No matter what I do, I've lost more patients than I could save. I've had to see children clinging to a parent while they wept for the one they'd lost, I've had to hear the agonised wails of a woman who lost someone dear."

He nodded silently. It was a dire situation; was there anything he could do to help? He saw Watson had emptied his second glass and quickly refilled it.

"A couple I've known for a while now...they lost the baby they'd been hoping for for so many years. He was not even a month old, Hound. Worst of all is that it's not over yet. As long as this epidemic continues to plague our fair city, more will become ill. Some will be saved, but more will be lost." He drained his glass. Before Hound could refill it, he put his paw out to decline any more. "I have been in a warzone, lost many friends and, though I tried, I lost many patients. You'd think that by now, I could handle this. No. I honestly can't."

Hound became alarmed when he saw his friend's eyes beginning to glisten.

Watson blinked rapidly and swallowed down a lump in his throat. "I can't take it anymore. I don't think I can go to another patient only to lose them as well. I've lost forty-one patients this week...forty-one in three days, Hound! What kind of a doctor am I if I lose that many patients?!"

Hound knew at that moment that what he and Mrs. Hudson had feared had come to pass; their dear friend had taken it all to heart and let it get to him. He could understand where the good doctor was coming from, he'd been in circumstances where a failure of his had resulted in loss of life. But, at the same time, he couldn't understand just how hopeless it had made Watson feel. His failure was not stopping a criminal in time, but Watson had his Oath to hold to and each loss felt like he'd done a great injustice to doctors everywhere.

"I'd heard that a lot this week too. I know their grief was speaking for them, but I can't help asking myself the same."

"You can't work miracles." Another inward cringe as he mentally cursed himself. _Watson knows that already!_

Watson sighed. "I know that, Hound. I've known it since Maiwand! I just..." Another sigh. "None of them deserved to die like that. None of the deaths were peaceful, they were all in pain and great discomfort. Imagine wanting to breathe but you can't and you may as well be drowning on land. That's how a small boy, no older than seven years, died this morning. I'm tired. I'm done with having to say, again and again, that I could do nothing more. I couldn't even make them comfortable in their final minutes."

"You tried your hardest, my friend, that's all anybody can do."

"It's not enough though, not if it means informing parents they need to arrange a burial for their child or trying to break the news to small children that their mother or father would not awaken." He set his glass down on the floor by his foot and buried his face in his paws. "I'm tired, Hound, I'm just...so tired..."

His concerned frown deepened. He finished his own brandy and set the glass down before rising to his feet, crossing the floor and sitting beside Watson. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "My dear Watson, you need to take a break before you experience a total breakdown."

"I can't refuse a call though. As much I would love to take a much needed respite from all of this, I can't."

"Not even for your own health needs? Watson, a doctor who is not of sound mind and body can do little more than an inexperienced amateur. I am not saying you're completely unsound, but at this rate..."

He shook his head. "I know what you meant, and you're right."

"I'll have Mrs. Hudson send a wire to the clinic to inform them you absolutely must take some time off, for the benefit of yourself and everyone around you. At this rate, my friend, you'll work yourself to your own grave, and that is something I refuse to permit."

He lifted his head and looked up to him. "Hound..."

"We shall arrange a holiday. Thanks to this epidemic, there are no cases so I have time. As for you, it would serve you well to leave London, if only for a brief time." He gave him a squeeze before releasing him and rising to his feet. He moved over to the desk, grabbed a slip and scribed a message.

 _Dr. John Watson is on the verge of a breakdown and must take some time off to prevent it. It is understood that all doctors on duty be required to care for the patients suffering from this epidemic, but there are grave concerns that he may also be lost if it keeps on. Sherlock Hound._

He hurried out of the sitting room.

Watson sighed and closed his eyes, only for them to fly open when his mind conjured the reminder of a girl of ten years pleading for her mother to wake up.

SHJW

"Mrs. Hudson, I understand you were called somewhere this evening?"

"Yes, I was. A friend requires my company."

"Might I ask you have this wired to the clinic? I'm deeply concerned about Watson's wellbeing and if things keep on the way they are now, he'll only decline."

She nodded and accepted the slip. "It is on the way there so I can have it done as soon as possible."

"Many thanks to you."

"I was just getting ready to head out, actually, you caught me in time."

He had noticed she was no longer in her pink dress and apron, but in her yellow dress. "Do you require a ride?"

"It's alright, I shall take a cab. You should stay with Dr. Watson, I believe he needs a good friend more than ever right now."

"Very well, Mrs. Hudson. Please take care."

She smiled sweetly at his concern and nodded. "I shall, Mr. Hound."


	2. Detective's Concern & Doctor's Flashback

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own_ _ **Sherlock Hound/Meitantei Holmes**_ _, the characters or the original_ _ **Sherlock Holmes**_ _works. They belong to their respective owners._

SHJW

Watson sat humming to himself, it seemed to be the only way he could consider to block the auditory reminders of his failures from his mind.

Hound returned to the sitting room, ears twitching once as he heard the humming. It wasn't calm and patient, it was rushed, loud and carried a distinct air of distress. He had to wonder just what was wrong.

Watson paused his humming and looked to Hound in relief. "Thank goodness you've returned, my dear Hound. It was far too quiet with you gone. I could hear them."

"Hear whom?"

"The voices of the bereaved."

He nodded, still frowning. "Humming didn't silence them?"

"No, and I tried doing it louder and louder still, but I still heard."

Hound stepped over to where his violin case was. He took out his Stradivarius, tuned it, took the bow, got into position and started to play. "Let's hope this keeps them silent before you're driven to Bedlam." He would normally close his eyes to focus on the music he was playing, but he kept them open and on Watson. He could see him shivering. He stepped closer and stood beside him. _This has to help, my dear Watson can't handle this much longer._ The longer he played, the more the shivers subsided and soon, much to Hound's relief, Watson didn't appear as haunted.

SHJW

Hound sighed as he sat alone sitting room, Watson had gone to bed. Hound couldn't help but wonder how that night would go. Would Watson experience nightmares? Would the voices of the bereaved return to haunt him? Would he force himself to stay awake, or would he use a sedative?

The sitting room door opened and Mrs. Hudson entered. She wore a grim expression on her face.

"Your friend knew someone with influenza," he whispered, rising to his feet and crossing the room.

She nodded. "Her husband fought it, but complications arose. I considered contacting Dr. Watson, but even if I had, he would've been too late."

He shook his head. "Watson should not be exposed to any more influenza patients for now." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her to the sofa. He had her sit down before he joined her. "Over the last three days, he's lost forty-one patients. He's not handling it well in the least, hence that message I requested you had wired to the clinic. If he loses one more patient in his current state, he is very likely to experience a total breakdown."

"I see. What will be done?"

"Once I've received a response from the clinic, I shall know exactly what to do. I'm considering that Watson and I take a brief holiday. You can take the time to visit your loved ones."

"What if the clinic declines the request?"

"I shall continue endeavouring in my efforts. I am gravely worried about him."

"Where is he now?"

"His bedroom. I was about to check in on him to see if he's sleeping."

"I understand. I was coming back here for some belongings. My friend needs me to stay with her for now."

"Is the cab outside?"

"Yes."

"Alright. Mrs. Hudson, I repeat that I hope you take care. Not just in the event of criminals, but with the epidemic."

"Of course."

"And though I know you trust Watson more than you do other doctors, please, I implore you not contact him concerning a patient."

"I shall not do so." She rose to her feet. "Good evening, Mr. Hound." She made her way out of the room.

Hound rose to his feet.

SHJW

The door opened slowly and the light of a candle filled the room. Hound approached the bed and saw Watson was asleep. It didn't appear to be a sound slumber, so he must've decided to try to force himself to sleep. _Otherwise, he is simply too exhausted to stay awake any longer._

"Mrmm..."

He tensed, gauging Watson's expressions. _If I have to stay and keep vigil over him, I shall._ He found a chair and moved it to the bedside. He set down the candle.

"Mm...rry..."

He decided right then the vigil was the right move; someone had to be there to offer comfort.

SHJW

Hound could feel fatigue creeping up on him, though he tried fighting it off. He usually could when it concerned a case, so why was it so difficult at that very moment? _No, I must stay awake! Watson might...need..._ Unfortunately, the battle was lost. He slumped forward, eyes falling shut and he finally gave in.

As Hound lost his fight against sleep, Watson was undergoing his own battle; he was in combat against the Demons of the Past. His face scrunched up and he let out a near-silent whimper. He hadn't experienced such nightmares for a long time; there was little doubt that the past three days had unburied some distressing memories.

SHJW

"NO!"

Hound was awake in an instant; good thing he was a light sleeper, no matter how tired. He looked to Watson and saw he was tossing and turning, not giving thought to his old wounds. Hound frowned, rose to his feet, turned on the gas lamp above the bed and started shaking Watson, mindful of his bad shoulder. "Watson! Watson, wake up, my dear fellow!"

"Not again! No, not another!"

"Watson!"

"Sergeant, we lost another!"

He tensed up. _He hasn't experienced one of his days in Afghanistan for a year, at least!_

"Look out! Sergeant!"

"WATSON!"

His eyes flew open and he bolted upright, sweat matting the fur on his forehead. "Sergeant?" He was panting, still stuck in his nightmare of days gone by.

"Watson, you're in Baker Street." He sat on the edge of the bed, placed a paw under his friend's chin and directed him to look at him. "You're safe."

Recognition filled his eyes and his breathing started to calm. "H-Hound...?"

"The last few days revived those nightmares."

"Ah...yes, it looks that way."

He was still holding Watson's good shoulder with his other paw. He dropped the one he'd placed under his chin, instead placing it atop one of Watson's paws. He felt it shaking, so he gripped it firmly. "Maiwand?"

"Yes. It was the fiercest moment of the campaign; some soldiers couldn't even make it to the Medical Station before they succumbed to their worst wounds. I'd been helping one of the younger Privates but...there was nothing I could do. I was reporting the casualties to our Sergeant when the battle approached. It was..."

Hound's gaze flicked to Watson's other shoulder. He'd been informed in the past it was during the Battle of Maiwand that he'd received a Jezail bullet in his shoulder and another in his leg that same day.

"Right before I was hit, as you know." He sighed. "Did I wake you, Hound?"

"Yes, but I wasn't in my room to start with."

"Hm?"

"I grew concerned and wondered if you'd be sleeping at all tonight after everything that's happened lately. I came to check on you and noticed you weren't having restful slumber, so I decided to stay and keep vigil, just in case you need me. I did fall asleep, much to my chagrin, but I knew I'd be able to wake instantaneously should your sleep be disrupted."

"Hound..." He sighed. "By the way, I'm sure I'd heard Mrs. Hudson earlier."

"Yes, she wanted to collect some belongings as she'll be staying with her friend for a while."

"Has something happened?"

He shut his eyes. He knew Watson was an adult, he knew he couldn't hide anything from him if it was important, and to Watson, what happened would be considered such.

"Hound, what happened?"

"Yet another taken by influenza. Mrs. Hudson's friend lost her husband."

He gripped his blanket tightly. "Nobody was able to help him?"

"Mrs. Hudson considered contacting you, but knew it would be too late by the time you arrived."

"Oh..."

"This year's strain is far more fatal than any other."

"Research is being done to find out why. It doesn't take everyone, but it's those with weak constitutions most at risk, including young children and the elderly."

Hound cleared his throat. "Watson, I feel that for now, you should try going back to sleep. You've no doubt exhausted yourself, physically and mentally, over the last few days. You need to rest, my friend."

"You're right, but I doubt I can."

"Do you feel you may require a sedative?"

"I'd rather not. Those work too well on me, I'd be impossible to stir should anything come up. I'm just going to have to try sleeping again."

Hound helped him lie down and pulled the blanket up. "I'll still be here."

He nodded and closed his eyes.

Hound returned to his seat and folded his arms, keeping watch over Watson until he appeared to be asleep. It was only after he was certain that he lowered his guard and dozed.


	3. Doctor's Breakdown & Detective's Comfort

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own_ _ **Sherlock Hound/Meitantei Holmes**_ _, the characters or the original_ _ **Sherlock Holmes**_ _works. They belong to their respective owners._

SHJW

Watson was the first to awaken that morning. He sat up and looked to Hound, shaking his head in fondness as he saw him sitting up and sleeping, head bowed and tilted to the side. _His neck will be sore this morning..._ He pushed back the covers and climbed out of bed.

Hound stirred. "Hm? Watson, is everything alright?" He rubbed the back of his neck.

"It's morning, Hound."

"Morning? Oh, so it is." He rose to his feet. "I'll leave you to get yourself ready for the day; I still need to see if there was a response to my wire yesterday." He rose to his feet and left the room.

Watson stretched and set about doing everything he had to to prepare for the day ahead. He still had to check up on a couple of his patients.

SHJW

"I'm heading off now, Hound, I should be back by luncheon."

Hound blinked in surprise as Watson rose from his seat at the breakfast table. "But, Watson, you should be taking respite."

"I have to check up on a few of my patients."

"Wat-"

"Hound, just as you have your duty to your clients, I have my duty to my patients. I can't leave them right now."

"Very well, just please take care?"

He blinked twice before a small smile formed. "I'll be alright, Hound. Well, I'm off." He made his way out of the sitting room.

Hound sighed when he heard the door close. He still hadn't heard a response from the clinic, he was worried that Watson was not in for a good day. "I'd best prepare for when it happens." He rose to his feet and left the sitting room.

SHJW

"Doctor! Thank goodness you're here!"

The overwhelming relief on the woman's face told him everything. "In their room?"

She nodded and led him to the room. She opened the door and revealed three children, triplets at the age of four, shivering in their beds. They each had cool compresses on their foreheads and appeared far too pallid.

Watson frowned deeply, determination in his eyes as he entered the room and started to administer treatments.

SHJW

"Mr. Hound?"

Hound paused on his way back into the garage when he heard the voice. He looked to see a messenger boy. "Yes, I'm Mr. Hound."

"Message for you, sir!"

He accepted the message with words of thanks and opened it, reading it as the messenger boy departed. He sighed in relief.

 _In light of the circumstances, Dr. John Watson shall be permitted leave effective immediately._

He eased his automobile out of the garage, started the motor, climbed into the driver's seat and took off. He had to arrange the holiday he had planned. He just hoped that by the time Watson returned that afternoon that everything would be alright.

SHJW

Watson closed the door on the sound of wailing. Yet more had been taken and he could do nothing but try to make the children even the slightest bit comfortable. He heard a familiar motor. "Hound? How'd he know I was here?"

Hound was also surprised to see Watson. The surprise gave way to deep concern when he noted just how miserable he appeared. He pulled over and jumped out of the vehicle, jogging over to his friend. "Watson..." He eased an arm around his shoulders, leading him to car. "You've been granted leave, other doctors can take on your patients. Come on now, old boy, let's get you home."

Watson was on automatic as he allowed himself to be guided to the car a few feet away. "Forty-four."

His ears twitched once at the whisper. He knew what Watson was saying; it was exactly why he was taking him straight home. _I failed to prevent it._ He helped him into the passenger seat, climbed into the driver's seat and had the car drive onwards. He had to try lifting the doctor's mood a little, but how? He forced a smile and spoke up. "Well, Watson, how does a holiday in Cornwall sound? Sea air, peace and quiet, I'm certain it is just what you need!" he remarked, putting as much forced cheer into his tone as possible. He was a good actor, but at that moment, not even the skills he had could allow him to sound convincingly upbeat enough. Aware he wasn't helping as much as he'd hoped, Hound fell silent, keeping watch on his friend in the corner of his eye.

SHJW

Hound continued supporting Watson up the seventeen steps and into the sitting room. He helped him sit on the sofa. "Brandy?"

Watson shook his head.

"Very well." He sat beside him, keeping an eye on him.

Watson dashed his fist under his eye. "Forty-four, Hound. Triplets, this time. They went at the same time. They seemed fine yesterday, but they deteriorated overnight. When I arrived, their mother was so relieved to see me. I was determined not to let them go too, but just goes to show how far determination goes." He squeezed his eyes shut and bowed his head.

Hound had a paw on Watson's back, not knowing what he could say. "I'm sorry..."

"As am I. I failed my patients again. Their mother trusted that I would help her children and I betrayed her trust." He inhaled deeply as he lifted his paws to his face. "They were all she had!" he cried with a broken voice before he started to tremble.

He slid his paw from Watson's back to his shoulder, shifting over slightly so his friend could lean on him if he had to. There were no words he could say; the instant Watson's sobs had started, Hound knew no words would help at that moment.

SHJW

It was some time before the sobs had ceased, longer still for the shivers as Watson finally released all of the stress he had been feeling after forty-four patients had lost their lives despite his best efforts. "I feel exhausted. I think I'll just go back to bed."

"Need some help?"

"No, I'll be right, thanks." He lifted his eyes to look into those of his friend, seeing the obvious concern. "I'll be alright, it's not the first time I've lost a number of patients in such a short time." He tried smiling, but it wasn't the same as his usual grin. The effort only exhausted him further, so with a sigh, he rose to his feet and slowly plodded out of the sitting room.


	4. Detective's Discovery & Doctor's Journal

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own_ _ **Sherlock Hound/Meitantei Holmes**_ _, the characters or the original_ _ **Sherlock Holmes**_ _works. They belong to their respective owners._

SHJW

It wasn't until the door closed that Hound hung his head, bangs covering his eyes, and let out a sigh of his own. How could he help his dear Watson? "Perhaps I will know better after I've cleared my mind." He rose to a standing position and moved to the table to collect the tea tray that had been there since breakfast.

"Hm, come to think of it, the table is a bit wobbly today. A short leg? But, it hasn't been like that be...of course!" He fell onto his knees and lifted the tablecover, spotting a book under one of the legs. He couldn't fight back the grin forming when he realised just who had put it there. "You're becoming inventive with your hiding places, my dear Watson," he murmured as he carefully extracted it and set the table down smoothly. He almost chuckled. Indeed, what he held in his paws was one of Watson's journals. It had become something of a game between the pair in which Watson would leave a journal somewhere in the sitting room or upstairs dining room and Hound would find it.

"I must admit my curiosity as to which case is documented in this one," he remarked as he moved to the armchair and sat down.

Much to Hound's surprise, the journal did not bear any details of previous cases. It appeared to be a more personal account. Still, Watson would've kept it in his bedroom if he didn't want Hound to read it, not hide it like he would the journals of their cases. Hound knew that, so he continued reading.

 _Though I felt a sense of pride the minute I put on the uniform, I am now aware that it comes with a heavier burden. Our commanding officers have our lives on their shoulders, just as the medical team bears the lives of all in our forces. There are no bitter words exchanged when a patient is lost as we are all too aware of our reality._

 _If only the same could be said when a civilian has lost their life. Though I and many of London's practitioners are putting in our hardest efforts, this strain of influenza has led to a growing number of casualties. Highest statistics of loss of life are young children no older than seven years of age, the elderly and all with very weak constitutions whose immune systems are incapable of combatting the virus. Otherwise healthy individuals are brought to poor conditions, but they are able to fight back and recover after a good period of rest._

 _I must admit a fear I have. My constitution isn't the strongest, but considering I was able to survive enteric fever, I am not too concerned for myself. As long as I continue to rest my body and make sure I eat, I shall be fine. The constant exposure to illness has also strengthened my immune system._

 _However, I cannot say the same for the one I am most worried about. My dearest friend, Sherlock Hound. When there is a case, he refuses to sleep and barely eats unless I pleadingly implore he do so, or his body demands it lest he collapse. It doesn't matter how long a case lasts, he has stayed awake for days on end, barely even taking a nap. Even when there are no cases, if his black moods fail to allow him any rest or brings about a lack of appetite, he goes longer still without it._

 _I'm truly frightened that if he should be exposed to it, no matter how strong he thinks he is, he may be yet another casualty, and personally, I just cannot bear the thought of it. I'm not a religious man, but every night I have been praying to Providence that he be spared from it. I just can't... I need to stop._

He noted the dried patches on the page and frowned, realising the very thought of him succumbing to the illness that had taken forty-four of Watson's patients had brought great distress to the doctor. "Oh, my dear Watson..." He paused to compose himself before turning the page.

 _I have been doubting myself. My skills as a physician above all else, but there are underlying doubts as well. I feel like, in the grand scheme of things, I'm pretty much useless. I shouldn't be a doctor. Hound reminded me that I'm not supposed to be able to work miracles, and by gosh do I know that! So then...what am I supposed to do? I've lost over forty patients and just don't know what I should do._

 _Hound, on the other hand, is quite capable of working miracles in his own way. I'm just there to watch it happen, I do nothing to contribute._

"My dear Watson, that's so far from the truth it may as well be on the continent."

 _I guess my feelings are correct. In the grand scheme of things, I am useless. I do nothing as a doctor, nor as an associate to my dear Hound. So...what next? What place is there in this world for someone as useless as myself?_

Alarm bells sounded in his mind much louder than the chimes of Big Ben. He set the book down, rose to his feet, hurried out of the sitting room and to Watson's bedroom.

SHJW

Hound didn't want to startle Watson so he was quiet when he entered, but he had to assure himself he needn't fear for his friend's safety. He stood by the bed and bent over, relieved to see the steady rise and fall of Watson's chest, as well as hear his gentle breathing. _He hasn't shown a sign of considering it yet, but I will need to be wary until I know he'll be alright._ He surveyed the room and, satisfied that nothing was amiss, he departed and returned to the sitting room.

He sat in the armchair and picked up the journal, turning the page.

 _I'm not contemplating that yet. Still, I must wonder what good I am to anybody._

Hound lowered the journal, determination filling his grey eyes. He nodded to himself, he knew he had to assure Watson that he was far from useless. "Watson must've left this one so I could gain a better understanding as to how he was feeling, even if he couldn't vocally express it." He set the journal down once more, this time closing it, rose to his feet and crossed the sitting room to his desk. He had something very important to write, he only hoped he conveyed it well enough.


	5. Doctor's Memories & Detective's Letter

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own_ _ **Sherlock Hound/Meitantei Holmes**_ _, the characters or the original_ _ **Sherlock Holmes**_ _works. They belong to their respective owners._

SHJW

Watson awoke a few hours later, feeling much more rested than he had in days. He wasn't feeling as low too, so he believed it was simply exhaustion combined with a difficult time that had led to his despair. Still, he was thankful he had been granted leave so he could recover from everything that had happened. The only thing he could express gratitude to the influenza for was the fact many criminals would've caught it too, meaning no cases.

He felt sad for Hound having to endure the boredom that set in, and he hoped that it wouldn't bring about a black mood, but his relief at not having to venture out while not feeling like his old self came a bit stronger.

As he moved to perform his toilette, he noticed an envelope sitting on his dressing table. "Hm?" He picked it up and smiled fondly when he noticed the familiar, flourished script that read _My dear Watson_ , knowing precisely who had written it. He moved back to his bed and sat on it, opening the envelope with care and drawing out the papers inside. He made himself comfortable and started to read.

 _My dear Watson,_

 _I have just read the journal you placed under the leg of the dining table, and I must admit you caused me greater concern. I felt a need to compose myself after reading your fears for my health, but what struck me the hardest was seeing you doubting your self-worth in this world. I am unsure if I will manage to convey my thoughts clearly in this letter as you're greater with the pen than I, yet I shall attempt it._

"I thought I left the journal about the case involving the stolen gold bullion and Moriarty's statue...must've left that one by mistake."

 _If there is one thing that you must always remember, it's that you, Dr. John Hamish Watson, are not useless! From the very first case we took on together, though you were involved by sheer fate, you have proven to be a worthy ally that I would not have been able to fare without. I must admit my personal gratitude to Fate's intervention that evening, as it had brought me the one I can honestly call my dearest friend without irony._

"It was just him knowing I'm a doctor that got me involved. I remember that, he'd sent for me to help Sir George when he showed signs of a heart attack due to his panic of his unfortunate circumstances. I happened to be there when he needed help for his plan and he continued to request of my assistance. How could I say _no_ to the man who'd prevented me from tumbling down those steps?"

 _The moment we thought our time had come to an end, I offered you a hearty handshake. Then, when it was assured that we had survived the whole ordeal, it was you to make the offer. It was at that very moment I knew the truth, my good man. Right then, I was aware that I had come to consider you as a trusted ally and a dear friend. When you informed me you had no lodgings in London, I had to invite you to live with me. It was not just out of obligation due to the fact we'd be working together from that day forward, but it was because I wanted you to. I had never been close to anybody like that before, in such a way that I could introduce you as my best friend to others within days. I would've felt like a right cad if I had left you to your own devices instead of opening my door to you._

"I do remember saying to the cab driver that we were best friends, then the very next morning, he had introduced me as such to a client...Miss Shields, if I recall correctly..."

 _It is always important to have back-up when on a case, and I am certain you'd noticed that in those days, our dear Lestrade wasn't entirely pleased with the thought of working with me, at least until I asked for his assistance. Having you by my side proved to be quite valuable; I had someone to share my theories with, as well as someone to provide their own which helped provide the answers. I had someone who could assist in times of peril when I was tied up, in the literal and metaphorical senses, my dear Watson._

He chuckled at that. "Then there were the times we were both tied up. He helped me out of mine, then I helped him out of his. If I wasn't there..."

 _Recall, if you will, the case of the Green Balloon, when those sailors working for Professor Moriarty had us both bound up. There were no tools in the room that would've allowed a solo escape, and I couldn't very well gnaw my own ropes off. But, as it was, I had released you from your bindings which permitted you to do likewise. The family was in very real danger, my dear Watson, and if we hadn't been able to break free, there would've been a great yet unknown tragedy on Dolphin Island._

He had to admit that was true; the lighthouse keeper, his wife and their son, would've had their lives cut short with nobody the wiser.

 _You've also proven to be capable outside of our cases. I know it pains you to recall such times, but there were those moments you managed to treat every single wound I had acquired during a case. Some were minor, like shallow cuts and some bruising, but there was one occasion I recall too well. You helped heal me in more ways than one, my dear Watson, and I wish for you to know that I am forever grateful to you for it all._

He thought back and his smile faded. "I remember now. The serial killer tried shooting at me, Hound pushed me out of the way but he was grazed by the bullet and took a tumble down the stairs. It could've ended in a more tragic way had he not controlled how he fell. Aside from those, he carried the mental pains of not being able to find the murderer before he reached his third victim."

 _Not just for me, though, old boy, you've done much for our dear Mrs. Hudson as well. On a day she needed support, you realised it and offered it. Nobody should have to feel alone on a day they mourn the passing of someone they hold dear in their hearts, and you ensured she didn't._

He inhaled deeply and let out a slow breath. How could he forget that day? "Poor Mrs. Hudson looked such a sight, I was worried all day. It was only once she was showing signs of nearly falling apart I finally took matters into my own paws."

 _You may have lost many patients, this is true, and I do solemnly apologise for that callous reminder. But, Watson, you are not a useless doctor. You've helped many pull through as well. You've helped clients and offered medical aid to others during our cases, and every time you would come away wiping your brow but smiling. You always put in an effort and each patient you've helped has been grateful to you, as have their loved ones. It may take time for you to recover from the difficulty of these past few days, but one day, you'll return to your rounds and assist yet another ailing citizen; here in London or elsewhere if a case takes us there._

 _My dear Watson, please know these words that I have written are the truth, for though I deceive when necessary for the sake of bringing a criminal to justice, I would never lie about a matter as serious as this. Not when my dearest friend needs the truth that he is denying of himself._

 _Watson, you are not useless. You are a very important person; even if nobody else sees it, I always shall and I will continue to remind you of it should the need arise._

 _Always sincerely yours,_

 _Sherlock Hound._

Watson read the letter a few times more, allowing each word to sink in. He brought it to his chest as he squeezed his eyes shut and smiled, feeling touched by his best friend's words. His self-doubt of his worth in the world was slowly replaced by immense gratitude for the man he could hear playing his Stradivarius in the sitting room. "Thank you, my dear Hound..." he whispered.


	6. Detective's Words & Doctor's Gratitude

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own_ _ **Sherlock Hound/Meitantei Holmes**_ _, the characters or the original_ _ **Sherlock Holmes**_ _works. They belong to their respective owners._

SHJW

Hound paused in his playing as he heard the door open. He opened an eye and turned to see Watson entering. He noted his friend held the letter in his paws. "You appear better rested than this morning, old boy, was your sleep peaceful?"

Watson nodded, approaching Hound. He waited until he was facing him before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around him tightly.

"Watson?"

"Thank you, my dear Hound."

He smiled, patting his back twice.

Watson released him and stepped back, clearing his throat in embarrassment for his sudden actions. "I do mean it. I think that was exactly what I needed. Though, I have to admit something."

Hound chuckled. "That journal was the wrong one; you intended to place an identical one there but with your mind being exhausted from the stress, you placed the personal one there instead."

"How did you...?"

He pointed to his desk. "I found that one sitting on your desk and realised it. I know you normally keep your more private journals in your bedroom, but you haven't been your usual self since this all started."

"Though it was an error on my part, I'm glad I had left it there and that you'd found it. If I hadn't, you may not have realised just how terrible I have been feeling of late since I wouldn't have confided in you about them."

He placed a paw on Watson's shoulder and started leading him to the sofa. He waited for Watson to sit before he joined him. "And I wouldn't have pushed you to. I would've waited for you to speak of it on your own, similar to your nightmares of Afghanistan in our early days of living together. In this case though, waiting wouldn't have been wise. Though in your journal you claimed your mind hadn't started to consider...that...given enough time it may have."

"I know. I wanted to tell you, but the truth was I didn't know how."

"At first, I had surmised you'd left the personal journal so you could use that to better convey your thoughts. It was only after seeing the other journal I realised it had been a miscalculation on my part."

Watson nodded.

"Sometimes, written word can be expressed far better than vocalised, so if there is anything troubling you, please know that you can scribe it. I will read it, absorb it and find a way to help you. I assure you that after this, I know better than to leave you suffering on your own. I did want to help sooner, but there was little I could say."

"But, after you'd read my thoughts, you finally knew what had to be said. So, you wrote this letter for me. Hound, I want you to know I am keeping it in a safe place. The next time I start doubting myself, I will look back to what you said for the reassurance that I am worth something after all."

He wrapped an arm around his shoulders and held him close in a half-embrace. "You always will be to me, my dear Watson. If even those fail to assure you, then I shall reason with you some more. We have lots of time ahead of us; more cases to solve once this is over, you'll find more ways to prove your worth without even realising it."

"Hound..."

"The one thing you do that makes you anything but useless, my dear Watson, is being my closest, dearest and best friend. That is more than I can ask of you."

"I feel the same, Hound. Though I still have a long way to go with dealing with...everything...at least I know that I'm not doing it alone." He closed his eyes and smiled.

SHJW

 **After-notes:** _ **References in the letter Hound wrote to Watson come from episodes, except the mention of the serial killer and Mrs. Hudson's day of mourning; those are references to a couple of my past fanfics.**_

 _ **Thanks for reading! You don't have to review, but if you do say something, please don't flame. Constructive criticism is welcomed as always.**_


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